


Leave or Stay

by Except_on_Tuesday



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Angry Gavin Reed, Angst, Backstory, Blood and Injury, Broken Families, Coma, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Emotional Hurt, Explosions, Flashbacks, Gavin Reed Whump, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Memories, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Panic Attacks, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Ben Collins, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23792110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Except_on_Tuesday/pseuds/Except_on_Tuesday
Summary: Gavin wasn’t hurt.Then why is he the one screaming?
Comments: 57
Kudos: 135





	1. Chapter 1

\--

Leave or stay but when you are torn away

It rips the last right part out of me

\--

The first sound Ben heard upon entering the precinct was Gavin’s strident voice ringing across the DPD’s lobby. As per usual, the hot-headed detective was not thinking through his words nor considering the volume at which he was speaking them. Thankfully it was early so civilian ears were not scandalized.

“I don’t f—kin’ CARE what sh—tty excuses those f—ers are givin’!” Gavin, leaning in the indeterminate region of the doorway between bullpen and precinct lobby, slapped the flat of his hand against the glass door. “I want that friggin’ pregnancy test result NOW!”

“Oh, my.” Ben rubbed the back of his neck. _What a thing to shout at the top of your lungs._

Instead of continuing into the bullpen, the older cop dithered by the lobby window to admire the rare clear day rising over Detroit. He wasn’t senile enough to try and scoot past Gavin while the man was wound up and blocking the door. Instead, he exchanged nods with Moneypenny who was busy unpacking a large flat box at her counter.

 _Some new project, probably._

Captain Fowler was in charge of the bullpen, but the front lobby was Moneypenny’s domain and the captain let her decorate, poster, paint repaint, and pamphlet it to her thirium pump’s content. She’d already added a collection of awareness posters and hotline numbers along the front edge of her counter. On a few of the suicide hotline posters, she’d added her own personal number.

Ben felt sorry for anyone who abused her friendliness. Moneypenny was more than willing to help any stranger, but she did not tolerate harassment. She had almost as many complaints against her as Hank and Gavin combined. Ben smiled.

_And yet the Captain hasn’t confiscated her supply of mace._

He leaned against the lobby window and watched the huge scarred blue Oscar glide between the carefully tended aquatic plants in the enormous hexagonal tank installed behind the front counter. It was still a bit of a mystery as to why and how the enormous fish tank had suddenly appeared overnight a while back, but Connor liked it and Moneypenny hadn’t complained so it stayed.

A long, loud growl disrupted Ben’s lazy thoughts.

Gavin was becoming more and more frustrated and less coherent in his rant.

“F—k that!” Gavin’s nails beat a sharp tat-tat-tat on the glass as he listened to someone from within the bullpen. “No, no, no!” Gavin spoke over whoever was on the other end of the conversation, probably Chris, the cop was not paid enough, he snapped his fingers. “Are they on the phone now?! You tell ‘em if she’s pregnant that gives us motive an’ a reason t’old ‘er! Is that askin’ too f—in’ much?”

A short pause.

The old, black backpack slung over his shoulder suggested that Gavin was either on his way out to a crime scene or to follow some new lead, or that he’d spent the whole night at the station and was only now leaving.

Ben hoped it was one of the former reasons. _Heaven knows the boy needs more sleep._ He tucked his fingers into his pockets. _No. He hasn’t been a boy for a long time._ He shook his head and smiled sadly to himself. _At least I got to watch one person grow up...well, as much as Gavin can be said to have ‘grown up.’_

Ben didn’t regret his job. Not for a moment, not for one single moment, but...he did regret a lot of the choices he’d made over the years... _maybe there’d been another way..._

“Whaddya—they hung up? Didja tell ‘em ya’re callin’ fer Detective-sergeant Reed....okay...an’ wha’da’hell they say?”

Chris’ mildly miffed voice answered slightly louder than before. “They hung up, Reed.”

 _Ouch. ‘Reed’ not ‘boss.’_ Chris was a good guy and tolerated a lot, but it sounded like he was nearing the end of his patience as the conduit for verbal abuse between the irate detective and whatever brave soul was working the forensics lab downtown and forcing Gavin to wait in line for analysis results.

Gavin kicked the door. “D—mmit! You’re useless Miller!” He turned away into the lobby, slamming the poor automatic door. “Gotta do every’tin’ m’self ‘round ‘ere! PHCK!” He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and glared. “The phck you lookin’ at ya ol’ wombat?”

Ben’s forehead wrinkled as he realized the extent to which Gavin was riled up. The slight leftward slant of Gavin’s head, the tight shoulders, and the tiny crinkles around his eyes told Ben that the younger man was in pain, likely from a headache. Ben noted the white-fisted grip Gavin had on the backpack strap on his shoulder.

 _Migraine_.

“Gavin,” he started. He knew it was already a lost battle, but he wanted to try.

The detective held up a hand. “’les you have a tel’pathic link t’a murder’s brain, don’t phckin’ talk t’me.” He pressed the heel of his other hand between his brows, just above his nose, and leaned on the lobby desk. “Phhck.” Gavin leaned more heavily, his face hidden in his hands.

 _Definitely a migraine._ Ben thought sympathetically as he moved to get some water from the cooler. Gavin would refuse it, but Ben wanted the excuse to stay in the room with Gavin in case the man’s head finally exploded or something.

“Where you up all night?” Ben slid the paper cup toward Gavin with his fingertips.

An irritated glare from pained green eyes shot between tanned fingers and silenced Ben. The older cop could only watch as Gavin descended from a boneless lean into a sprawl over Moneypenny’s desk, the side of his face pressed against the cool surface.

After a minute—which Ben spent watering the lobby plants—Gavin’s eyes were open again and he was studying one of the tall stacks of domestic violence awareness brochures that rose in small towers on Moneypenny’s desk.

“Take one if you want, but don’t you dare knock them on the floor again.” Moneypenny warned without looking up from where she was installing a large electronic poster on the wall behind her desk. She kept some OTCs under her counter; the detective knew where they were if he wanted them. She wasn’t going to force him to take care of himself. 

“Pfft.” Gavin tucked his hand back into his jacket pocket and squinted at the colorful poster. “Wasszat?”

“Announcement for a memorial service at Belle Isle next month.”

“Fer cops?”

“For everyone.”

“’s’everyone?”

“Anyone who wants to come and remember someone they’ve lost to violence.” The android pressed a few buttons to the side of the new frame to reset it with the new poster.

Gavin scoffed and leaned on the counter, idly flipping through the stack of brochures he’d already been warned away from more than once. “Huh. ‘s’dumb. It ain’t gonna bring anyone back.” He muttered. “Why waste an ‘tire ev’enin’?”

Ben was afraid to move or breathe as he eavesdropped. As far as he knew Gavin never attended memorials hosted by the DPD not unless it was mandatory for PR; and even then, Ben never saw him in attendance for longer than it took for him to get kicked out for being hostile and disruptive.

“Memorials are for memories.” Moneypenny kept her eyes on the poster and its message. “They aren’t trying to bring anyone back.”

A short grumble came from the detective as he spread the brochures across the desk like a casino dealer. “People die...just get over it.”

Moneypenny finally turned around. “The hell you doing?” She demanded.

“Just askin’....oh...” Gavin smirked at the mess he’d made of Moneypenny’s desk with her various brochures. “Oops.”

“I’ll ‘oops’ you if you don’t get out of here an’ get some sleep. I’ll call the lab for the test results and forward them to your cell.”

At the same time, Connor sailed through the bullpen door. “Ah, Gavin. I heard you yelling—

“I don’t yell.”

“Okay, well, word on the street is that you need—

“Don’t need sh—t.” Gavin folded his arms.

Connor heaved a sigh, “I’m trying to say that I’ll—

Gavin jabbed a hand at the android’s chest, “Turn ya phckin’ ears on. I. Don’t. Need—

The elevator dinged. “I’m done w’ya.” Gavin flapped his hand in Connor’s face and swung around, likely wanting to catch the lift before the doors closed. He was already halfway across the room, having left Connor standing, hands on hips and huffing an annoyed breath up to the ceiling, when a large silver and blue package hurtled from the elevator.

“The phck?” With steps more rapid with curiosity, Gavin moved toward the lumpy package.

Not addled by a migraine and sleep-deprivation, Ben knew exactly what was about to happen. “Get down!” He shouted to Connor and Moneypenny as he slammed into Gavin; his heavier weight dragged the other man to the ground.

The explosion ripped through the lobby.

\--


	2. Chapter 2

Steady pressure, tight tourniquet, liquid stitches

But string an’ glue won’t hold the heat in these wounds

\--

So many years ago in Detroit.

“P-phck.”

The string of consonants stammered out between blue, cracked lips and chattering teeth. The young speaker’s snow and ice covered clothes offered scant protection from the winter storm howling and whisking around Detroit as he stumbled his way through one of the city’s parks.

Somewhere under the caked ice and snow, a pair of shapeless sneakers pinched the young man’s sore feet and let in the cold from every broken seam. His once dark jeans were a faded sickly grey and the threadbare green sweatshirt’s ragged collar showed evidence of habitual chewing. The only article of clothing that was remotely suitable to the weather was a hooded jacket. And even that was too large on the young man’s frame.

But an inner pocket of the jacket held a bright, shiny badge: Detective, Detroit Police, D69-0.

That Friday he’d received the badge, got assigned a desk with a name plate that declared to everyone: Det. REED. And got partnered with an old-fashioned-looking detective named Collins whose most interesting feature was a black angry caterpillar of a mustache.

‘Monday 6am.’ The big, bald Captain Fowler had said after sliding over the badge. ‘Don’t be late your first day, Junior-detective Reed.’

Gavin had only nodded then, but now he bared his teeth in a bloodied grin. _I won’t._ He would survive this storm. He’d survive the weekend and he’d be at work on time come Monday. _I’ll show you all._

“Phhhck.” He swore again when his shin struck against a decorative rock.

When Gavin walked out of Central Station that Friday evening, doubt radiated from the walls and the precinct building itself had seemed to sneer at him. The negativity likely absorbed from the stares of the officers who’d unashamedly stared at the raggedy young man who’d shoved his way into the station in the middle of the week and by Friday was fully employed as a junior detective.

Gavin knew the other officers wouldn’t speak against their captain’s decision. He’d known that as soon as he’d heard the muted hostile mutters start up only after the captain’s glass doors closed.

_I’ll teach ‘em all t’fear me too—_

A cold gust sent a sluice of frozen prickles into his eyes and doused his heated thoughts and memories. Only two more nights to survive before he could start working and earn a desperately needed paycheck.

Gavin scrubbed sleet from his eyes with one shaky hand covered in a threadbare glove. The ugly scar across his face ached from the cold exposure.

He gasped when the wind slapped him in the face and whipped the hood off his head.

It’d been much easier to imagine surviving until his first paycheck before the storm had decided to squat over the city, unmoved by the destruction of property and life it was causing. In less than an hour, Gavin’s last-ditch survival plan had been rendered obsolete by the storm that had caught him out in the open. All he’d needed was one clear weekend.

Apparently, even that was too much to ask.

The scant two hundred dollars he had saved for food and clean clothes for Monday was going to be drained into a cheap motel. The last advertisement he’d seen had bragged about ‘affordable $49 rooms.’ Detroit was filled with empty houses. But a motel had working locks on its rooms.

It wasn’t possible to starve in a week, was it? The thought of rummaging through Detroit dumpsters behind cheap restaurants barely riled his all but deadened sense of dignity. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d do whatever needed to be done to stay alive. Besides, after next week he’d have a paycheck.

Shelter, hot food, clean clothes...

Gavin tugged his hood back over his head only for the wind to catch it again. “S-s-s-t-top!” Another gust stole his cracked voice. “P-ph-phck.”

The attempt to clear his vision hadn’t helped at all. The sight remained the same: one white-grey wall of sleet and snow in every direction. Planting one foot steady, he twisted to look backward. His footprints in the deepening snow were covered over.

_No good._

The park wasn’t that big. There had to be a road eventually. And then follow it to shelter. He righted himself and took another few heavy steps forward.

Another gust knocked Gavin sideways. The weight of his backpack threw him further off balance and he staggered two quick steps. His foot hit a slope and he tumbled down a steep concrete embankment. He tried to stop himself, but the rough concrete ripped through his gloves and cut his numb fingers. With a glass-like crack, the sheet of ice broke. Cold water ate to his ankle before Gavin scrambled away. The chuck of broken ice drifted away under the water.

Shivering against the artificial bank, partially sheltered from the wind, Gavin tried to reorientate with the new information.

_Pond. I found the pond. So that means...restrooms are..._

He wrapped his arms around himself and hunched lower to the ground as he tried to remember the park as it’d been earlier that evening.

_Where?_

Gavin looked up. The embankment’s top was impossible to see. He started crawling up it; back out into the wind and storm. It was tempting to stay put. But without shelter...

_Keep moving. Keep moving._

He made it to the top. Too numb to feel scraped skin and broken fingernails, he stood; a defiant scowl re-split his lips. He clenched his jaw even though his teeth hurt almost as badly as his taunt neck and shoulders. He stuffed his hands under his arms and stamped his feet, trying to force feeling into them.

He shook off the build-up of snow and ice as more deposited on him from all around. Another involuntary shiver wracked through his body, thin from the long trek to Detroit.

 _Keep moving._ Gavin shuffled through the snow, the water already freezing in his thin sneakers. _Least....not shiverin’ n’more..._

There. A sign. _Public restrooms._ And there the ugly squat brick building itself.

Gavin stumbled through the dog-leg corridor, almost senseless with relief as the wind stopped roaring down his ears and he threw himself at the graffiti-covered door, memorizing the patterns even as he shoved the door open.

It swung, pitching him inside. He fell. His hands slapped against the ground, backpack weighing heavy on his tired and aching back.

He saw the shoes first.

Boots, sneakers, old dress shoes, heels. All scuffed and scraped and stained. Legs...people.

_Run. Get away._

“Hey now!”

Gavin scrambled to his feet, one arm up in a sloppy defensive elbow block; his other hand frantically trying to find the door handle. _Where is the door?!_ His shoes squeaked against the damp floor as ice and snow fell around his feet.

His vision swam in a blur of shape and colors as information trickled into his exhausted, half-froze mind.

People, bodies, cigarettes, stale perfume. A moving mass of layered, unsorted and mismatched clothes. Army fatigues, ripped puffy jackets, bulging pockets, cheap jewelry on anorexic bodies barely covered by dirty, garishly colored lingerie and synthetic fur coats. Eyes all staring at him.

A gigantic hand grabbed his arm, easily encircling the thin limb. “Hey. You’ll freeze out there!”

Gavin’s lips moved. It seemed a full minute before the animalistic cry burst from his throat. He ripped his arm away, but hands grabbed his shoulders and dragged him further into the room.

_Trapped. Trapped. Trapped._

Someone cried in pain.

His back pressed against a sink, Gavin snarled and raised his fists, shifting his stance.

“We ain’t gonna f—king hurtcha!”

The loosely bolted sink rattled against the wall from the extensive shivering wracking through him. Gavin shook his head and motioned toward the door with a sharp jerk of his head. “L-lemme g-go.” The words hurt as they worked through the mental fog and as bloody lips formed the thought into language.

“Hell, no way.” One of the fur coats with a tarnished necklace said. Her voice a soulless, tired sing-song. “You’ll die out there kitten.”

Gavin pressed further away. Kept his fists up. Closed his mouth.

_Don’t beg. Never._

Detroit would be different. He would teach everyone their lesson.

Movement.

He lunged at the nearest threat. His foot slipped in melted ice. His sluggish arms didn’t move in time. With a crack, his head bounced against the edge of the sink.

The thin skin opened up like a red smile across the young man’s forehead as his hands flopped uselessly against the sink’s smooth edge. Red, hot blood spilled over the stained yellow porcelain and dripped to the chipped tiled flooring, pat-pattering around the still body.

\--

A calm voice in the dark. “Kid?”

_Kid._

“Someone want to explain what happened?”

_Explain what happened._

“We didn’t do nothin’ to ‘im! We’re tryin’ to help him! Just slipped and hit ‘is d—mn head.”

_Tryin’ to help._

“Okay, yeah. No one’s blaming you. It’s good that you called instead of leaving him here.”

“Hah. Whatd’ya take us for? Cops?”

Scattered, bitter laughter.

Gavin opened his eyes and stared into the lined, square face of a grey-haired man wearing a pressed uniform with creases down the front.

_Too close._

He jerked away from the blue gloved hand that reached for him. In his mind, he was already looking at the stranger from the opposite end of a dark hallway, his hand on the door ready to slam it.

But his escape in reality was a pathetic little startle; he was still on the floor with the man leaning toward him.

“Kid? I need you to answer a few questions for me. Can you do that? Say ‘yes’ if you understand me.”

_Say ‘yes.’_

“No.”

The grey-haired man— _white uniform shirt, blue squiggly thing embroidered on shoulder_ —looked at someone to the left. Someone else was there. Gavin tried to follow the gaze, but his eyes hurt and they tracked back to the more recent object of interest and then decided that face was boring too.

Pain.

He opened his eyes and scowled at the man.

“—showing signs of awareness...”

“Safe to transport.”

For the shortest second, all questions of trust or mistrust disappeared as Gavin slid into a void of unconsciousness while gloved and masked figures crouched over him.

\--

When he opened his eyes again, Gavin was on his back on a crinkly examination table in a small room that smelt of lemon cleaner, old silk flowers, and synthetic vanilla.

The medical equipment was up-to-date and well-cared for. That was a nice change from the usual sort of clinic he usually ended up being dropped off in.

A white-coated and stethoscoped woman seated on the stool next to the bed flipped through a paper chart. Gavin spotted his name printed in bold lettering across the top.

“He’s awake.” The unaccented voice was as dry as the fact it stated.

 _Oh...caterpillar detective....ah....Detective Collins._ A quiet groan escaped Gavin at the realization that somehow his new partner had found out about this screw up.

“You gave us quite a scare, young man.” The doctor said, tapping the side of the narrow examination bed to catch her patient’s attention. “Are you in any pain right now?”

Gavin’s fingers found a smooth bandage stuck to his forehead; it wrapped nearly to his temple.

_I fell._

The suffocating laugh of failure echoed in his mind. Gavin drew his knees up and gingerly pressed his wounded face into them. _Weak weak weak weak weak weak._

“Hey, hey,” the woman tried to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Don’t!”

Gavin tried to fling himself out of the bed only to find Detective Collins there with an extended hand, palm out. “Behave yourself, kid. She’s just trying to help you.”

Gavin swatted at the hand even as he recoiled against the bed’s headrest. “Don’t need help!”

Collins shared a skeptical look with the doctor. “You were unconscious and half-frozen in a public restroom. An escort used the last of her prepaid minutes to call 911 for you. Paramedics came out in this weather to find you, found your wallet and badge and called the station...” He trailed off and adjusted the trajectory of his lecture. “I’m not blaming you. I’m explaining.”

“’splainin’ what?” The question snapped out like a threat. “That’s I’m a worthless piece of sh—t?” Gavin barked a short laugh. “Way aheada ol’ man.”

The doctor looked pained and Collins frowned. “No.” The detective said, choosing not to engage. “I’m saying that you did need help and you got help. No one thinks the less of you for it.”

Gavin scoffed and crossed his arms. He glared even though it hurt his head. “Still didn’t ask ferit.”

“Benjamin,” the doctor’s voice was gentle as she turned her attention to the older detective, “can you step out here with me for a moment? Reed, I’ll be right back to speak to you. Try to get a little more rest.”

“F—k off b—ch.”

Collins swung around to pin a glare on Gavin. “Watch your d—mn mouth.”

“Make me!” Gavin snapped as he tried to get down from the bed. He moved too soon, lights flashed in his vision and a roaring sound filled his ears. “Aaaahelll.” He murmured as the ridiculously familiar sight of the ground rushed up to greet him again.

But he didn’t hit the floor.

Collins muttered dark curses as he carefully settled the semi-conscious trouble-patient back into the bed. “Poor, dumb kid.” He muttered as he tucked the blanket around the young man who petulantly kicked them away again.

\--

Gavin chewed on the neckline of the donated sweatshirt as he listened carefully to the conversation taking place in hushed voices just outside the room.

“What do you think?” That was Detective Collins.

“He’ll be okay. He has a concussion, but there’s no sign of swelling.” That was the lady doctor that smelled like too much vanilla.

“He’s a mess.”

Gavin frowned. _Jerk._

“Not from the head injury. He’s malnourished, dehydrated and exhausted. You said he’s your new partner. How the hell did this happen?”

_Askin’ the wrong person....how the hell’s he suppose t’know?_

“Lorrie—

_Doc’s name is Lorrie...._

“Don’t give me that, Benjamin. Did becoming a detective turn you blind? The kid’s homeless and starving. And he’s your partner? What were you thinking?”

 _Not his problem, woman._ Gavin scratched at his cracked hands.

“Hey,” Collins sounded indignant. “He just swanned into the precinct on Wednesday and was hired by Friday. He didn’t exactly seem like he needed anyone’s interference.”

_True dat._

“You mean to tell me that that exact kid in my examination room walked into DPD Central fricking Station and walked back out without anyone thinking to ask him if he needed any help?”

_Phck that._

“He didn’t seem—

“You didn’t care to look.”

“I don’t....alright, alright,” Collins paused, breathed deeply, and then, “alright.”

 _...’alright?’....’alright’ what?_ Gavin propped himself up on an elbow and stared at the door.

“Good. Here’s his vitamin supplements and antibiotics, instructions are in the sack.”

_......what’s....why......?_

“You sure he shouldn’t stay here?”

That sounded like a terrible idea to Gavin.

“Benjamin, he doesn’t need IVs and drugs. Take him home. Get him a warm bath, comfortable clothes, a hot meal, and a nice long sleep. I know you’ve had a rough patch. But...well....you can still care for people.”

_No! I don’t need anyone’s pity help!_

“I said alright. Lighten up on the lecture.”

Gavin scowled when the doctor reentered the room. This time Detective Collins did not follow her.

“I don’t need his help.” He spat.

“What are you going on about?” The doctor made a few notes in the medical file.

Gavin looked away from the clipboard. His chipped nails found another scab on his hands. “I don’t want to go with Detective Collins.”

“Gavin—

“It’s Detective Reed.”

“Detective Reed, I cannot in good conscience let you out of my care unless I know that you have somewhere safe to rest and recover. I think you’ll be more comfortable with the detective. I know him well and you’ll be safe with him. Besides, you two are partners right?”

“Yeah. Guess so.”

“Then start building a relationship. Trust. You’re gonna be faced with some nasty sh—t here in Detroit. Best to build trust with your partner before you two get trapped in a dark alley while facing down a gang.”

Gavin quirked his head at her and blinked. “Does that happen often ‘round here?”

“Babe,” It was said with a casual laugh as a less professional side of the doctor slipped through with her sudden laugh, “why do you think I know Ben so well?”

“’cause ya mugged ‘im inna dark alley?”

\--

Whether from the drugs and rest or the banter with the lady-doctor, Gavin trailed after Collins into the parking lot feeling slightly better than he had for a long time. And despite the detective’s quick pace and the still raging storm, Gavin thought that things might not be entirely horrible. At least for a little bit. Maybe the rest of tonight things could go at least not entirely wrong for him?

Collins jumped into the car without saying a single word. Gavin tried to open the passenger door. It was cold against his bare fingers.

Locked. He jumped away when the car began backing out of the parking space.

_Oh._

There was nothing in the thought other than realization.

He was an idiot.

Again.

He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging the sack of his wet clothes and backpack against his chest. His sluggish mind tried to fire up and churn out some ideas...maybe that doctor would let him stay in the clinic... _lazy, stupid, slow, deserve to be treated like filthy trash._

A shout broke through his thoughts. “What the hell kid!?” Collins was half out of the car and shouting. “I told you to stay by the lobby doors! I was coming around to pick you up!”

_Oh._

\--


	3. Chapter 3

The senior detective’s car smelt like stale cheerios and musky cologne. It wasn’t the most unpleasant car-smell Gavin had ever experienced, but it wasn’t—

He bit back a yawn as his aching body sank against the lumpy cloth seat. He was aware of Detective Collins’ frowning side-glance, but he lacked the energy to return a glower for it. With his elbow propped against the door, Gavin picked at the butterfly stitch across his brow while he stared out at the blizzard.

He knew he needed to think, but he couldn’t assemble any thoughts beyond: _Phckin’ weather._

He cleared his scratchy throat and knuckled his fist against his forehead, but the pressure didn’t go away. And the hot, dry air from the heater made his eyes water and sting. Abruptly, he swatted at the vent, closing it, and stifled a cough by clearing his throat again.

“You okay kid?” Detective Collins asked.

Gavin wasn’t sure, but the man sounded concerned. _Concerned about what_? The thought rose sluggishly in Gavin’s thought processes. _That I’ll f—k up his car? That he’ll be blamed? Liability?_

“I got some meds here if you need—

 _I don’t need anything._ “’m fine.” Gavin managed to snap out the claim despite how horrible his throat felt and his voice sounded.

“Dr. Lorrain said you might develop a chest cold—

“The hell...” Gavin’s head throbbed and he pressed his palms against his face. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t get offended. Sh—t happens. I’d be surprised if you didn’t come down with a cold after all that.”

 _He wants me to get sick. Wants me to screw up so he doesn’t have to deal with me. Hah._ “F—k off.” Gavin drew his shoulders up and turned his head away. _It ain’t happenin’_. An electronic billboard’s flashing lights and images caught Gavin’s eye through the snowstorm.

An advertisement for a new company ‘coming soon to—

Gavin fell asleep reading the brief message.

\--

He startled awake to the sound of a garage door’s rattling. He opened his eyes and squinted irritably as the car coasted into a large but messy garage filled with old boxes and dusty junk. The only clear space was where the car parked and a small trail from the left hand side up to a dingy white door that probably led into the house.

Automated lights overhead flickered twice and then snapped on and illuminated the garage’s far corners. Gavin winced and shielded his eyes from the glare. The itch in the back of his throat had developed spikes. He gagged and struggled to swallow through the pain. An involuntary groan eked between his lips as he rubbed a sleeve over his eyes to try and clear away the fog. “Time is it?” 

“Time to get inside and get a hot shower, some food, and sleep.” Collins covered a yawn. “Well, c’mon.” He shut off the engine with a click of his old-fashioned keys. “Excuse the mess.” He grunted as he footed the emergency brake. “Was too busy last summer to do the yard sale.” 

Gavin watched as the older man strode around to the car’s front, heading for the white door. Too muddled to formulate commands to his limbs.

Collins beckoned to him. “C’mon.”

The prompt was enough to remind Gavin how to move. Shoulders up and tired eyes roving, he stepped out of the car. Vertigo made it difficult to pick a path through the piles of junk and crumpled cardboard and he stumbled twice, kicking at the boxes to prove that it wasn’t HIS fault that he nearly fell.

A few warped plastic tubs with badly fitting lids gaped toothlessly at him. It was all boring crap, but one object caught Gavin’s eye: a tall, extravagant cat tower tucked away in the back of the garage behind an assortment of boxes that spilled out of a shelving unit.

He stopped. “Do you have...uh,” He pointed at the cat tower, “cats?”

From where he waited, Collins shrugged while twirling his keyring around his fingers. “Yes. One. Had to take the tower away because it got broke.” He paused. “You good with cats? Allergies or something?”

Gavin shook his head. “’s fine.”

They entered a narrow laundry room where Collins waved at the washer. “Just throw your stuff there. We’ll take care of it later.”

Setting the sack of damp clothes on top of the washing machine, Gavin kept his backpack in hand. “Where’s the cat?” _Is it nice? What color is it? What’s her name? His name?_

“Shoes uh...slippers go there.” Collins kicked his shoes into a designated corner. “Eh, the cat? She’s around here somewhere. But let’s get you settled in and then I’ll introduce you two. Leave the backpack there.” He pointed to a corner of the room. “It’s soaked.”

Gavin shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Look, kid—

“Reed.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. It’s Reed.”

“Okay...Reed. Listen, I’m not gonna touch your sh—t.”

“I said it’s fine.” Gavin’s stance shifted defensively and his grip tightened on his property.

Collins sighed and shrugged. “Have it your way. Just don’t put it on anything that’s gonna get ruined.” He called over his shoulder as he led the way to a back bedroom. “Let’s see if we can find you something better’n those hospital things.”

Gavin followed at a short distance, scanning his surroundings. No pictures on the walls or tables, but too much quality furniture for a bachelor detective. _Married?_ No sign of another person living in the house. He trailed a finger across a dusty side table. _Divorced? Eccentric collector of dusty furniture?_ Another wave of vertigo forced Gavin to stop in the bedroom’s doorway and lean heavily against the frame as he tried to focus. He muffled a cough in his sleeve.

‘Merrow?’

Cold and tired as he was, warmth fluttered in Gavin’s chest as a large black and white cat rubbed against his legs. “Hi, cat.” He knelt down, bracing himself from falling with a hand against the carpeted floor, and greeted the friendly animal. “Can I pet you?” The cat butted its head against his offered hand and purred louder.

Gavin gave the cat several gentle scratches. The soft fur and rumbling purr lightened Gavin’s mood. _Widower. Probably last summer. That’s why the garage is full of stuff he doesn’t want to get rid of._ The new theory formulated as he carefully stroked the cat’s fluffy back.

His thoughts were interrupted by Collins’ return from a deep walk-in closet. “This is all I could find.” Collins said.

Gavin tried to stand up too quickly. He staggered and nearly fell after his vision blacked out for an instant. He righted himself just as Collins came into the bedroom with an armful of clothes. Hiding behind crossed arms and a glare, Gavin disguised his lightheadedness as carelessness as he slouched against the wall.

“Here. Oh you found her.” Collins smiled at the lovable cat rubbing against the sulky young man’s legs. “Reed. That’s Floopy. Floopy. That’s Reed.” He made the introduction and tossed the clothes on the bed. “Leave whatever you don’t like on the bed. I’ll clean it up later. Shower’s over there.” Collins added, pointing. “Come out to the kitchen when you’re finished, okay?”

“’Whatever.”

Collins stopped as he passed Gavin. “Ki—Reed...are you sure you’re feeling okay? You look a little—

Gavin’s stance stiffened. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you passing out in the bathroom and hitting your head.”

“Yeah.” Gavin grabbed up a matching pair of sweats off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door. “That’d be tragic for you.” He muttered at the small, but clean bathroom decorated in a light blue with framed prints of lighthouses.

\--

By sprawling on the soft bathroom rug for a few minutes, Gavin managed to recuperate enough strength for a quick shower. Hair wild and skin a toasty pink from the hot shower, Gavin dressed in a set of oversized sweats and sweatshirt. The sleeves hung over his fingertips, but he folded his hands into them like a muff and trotted out into the living room.

Floopy hopped off the bed and followed him into the kitchen where Collins fiddled around by the stove, scraping a can of thick red sauce into a pan.

Gavin stood behind the older man and watched him for a few seconds while Floopy rubbed against his bare ankles. He muffled a short sneeze in the borrowed sweatshirt’s sleeve. “Phshk.”

“Holy sh—t!” Collins jerked and spun around at the tiny sound as much as if it had been a gunshot. Startled in turn, Gavin sprang back and stood stock-still, hands curling into fists. “The hell you doing?!” Collins set the can onto the countertop.

Gavin crossed his arms and glared. “You told me to come.”

Floopy, aggravated with both jumpy humans, meowed discontentedly and sauntered into the living room where she jumped onto the couch for another nap.

For reasons unknown to Gavin, Collins tried a diffusive smile. “I didn’t tell you to sneak up on me.”

Thrown by the gesture, Gavin narrowed his eyes. Not seeing any obvious ill-intent in the older man’s body language, Gavin huffed. “Phck.” And strode into the living room and flung himself into the oversized recliner. He drew his feet up and rested his chin on his knees and stared at the blank television set. He heard Collins sigh.

“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just didn’t hear you. You got uh cat feet.”

“Nothin’ wrong w’m’feet.” Gavin pulled his feet closer. He was suddenly aware of how vulnerable and exposed he was. _Idiot. Idiot. Serves you right. Shoulda neveragreed to this._

“It just means you’re quiet.” Collins’ voice remained gentle.

“No’m not.” Gavin didn’t care if his contrariness was obvious now. He just wanted to be left alone.

A pause. “You hungry?”

“N’really.”

“What do you like? Pizza? Mac an’ cheese? Soup?”

 _Too friendly. He wants something._ Gavin drew in a sharp breath and pressed his face deeper into his knees. _This is a mistake._ But it was too late now to go back. He had to give the man something or Collins would keep pestering him. “Don’t like food.”

“Pardon?”

Silence. _Leave me alone._

“You gotta talk to me kid.” Gavin heard the increasing exasperation in Collins’ tone. “We’re gonna be partners.” The older man continued. “It’d look bad if I let you starve under my own roof.”

“Takes at least a week t’starve, don’t it?” The genuine question came out before Gavin realized he’d spoken aloud.

Collins’ heavy footsteps sounded and the man came around the chair to stand in front of Gavin who stared at him, waiting.

“Do you want to go back to the hospital? Get yerself hooked up to an IV and have them pump you full of whatever crap you need?”

_Threats._

Gavin sunk deeper into the chair. _Give him more. Give him what he wants._ Gavin pushed his pride a little further aside for the sake of survival. “Makes m’sick.” He admitted. 

“Anything in particular that makes you sick?”

“Everythin’.”

Collins’ brow furrowed. “What’ve you been eating?”

“Just whatever.”

“Like what?”

“Just whatever.” Gavin’s voice picked up a low, warning growl. Collins was pushing too much too fast. Gavin’s heartbeat pattered in his throat and behind his eyes.

Collings rubbed his fingers over his mouth and then shuffled into the kitchen. “Okay, then. We’ll start with something gentle. Applesauce?”

The chair rocked wildly as Gavin squirmed and popped up over the back. His fingers dug into the chair’s thick cushion. “What’s that?” The question was laced with genuine curiosity.

“What? Applesauce? It’s just mashed up apples.” Collins paused. “Do you like cinnamon?”

“Dunno. What color apples issit?”

“Uh.” Collins looked at the container’s pictures. “Red? I guess?”

Gavin slunk down, realizing that his curiosity had gotten the better of him again. He hid another soft sneeze into the chair’s top cushion. “Whatever.”

Collins put a dash of the spice on a quarter portion of the small plateful of fruit sauce and added a few plain graham crackers for good measure. “Here we go.” He pronounced as he set the offering on the TV tray by the chair. “Munch on that.”

“Said I wasn’t hungry.”

Collins shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He flopped onto the couch next to his cat and turned on an old monster flick about killer earthworms. 

\--

The next morning Gavin was already up when Collins came into the kitchen. He was standing on the counter peering out the high kitchen window at the cold but clear world outside.

Collins cleared his throat.

Gavin’s head whipped around, seeing Collins, he leapt off the counter and leaned against it. “What?”

“Why didn’t you say you were homeless?” Collins asked. “Friday after you came in? I woulda let you stay with me.”

Gavin picked at scabs on his knuckles. “’m not homeless.” He muttered.

“Yeah. That’s why you were out in a snowstorm and agreed to come home with me instead of demanding that I drop you off at your place.”

“I have a place.” Gavin pulled off a scab. “I just can’t move in for a bit...all my stuffs in storage is all.”

“How long is a bit?” Collins dug through the fridge for an egg for breakfast. He offered one to Gavin who shook his head with a disgusted frown.

“A bit.”

“How long?”

“Few months.”

Collins rubbed a hand across his face. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re staying here until you get some living quarters squared away.”

“I don’t....”

“Look, it’s the logical course of action for you right now.”

“I...”

“I’m not going to let you...Reed? You okay, kid?”

“....n’t feel...s’well.....”

//

\--

Present time.

Gavin opened his eyes. The room was spinning, but that wasn’t unusual. He propped himself up on one shaky arm and spat blood.

“T-th-the hell?” His legs wouldn’t cooperate and his arm shook too badly to hold his weight. “D—mmit.” Where was his other arm? S _till attached right?_ His head swung down to check. _One. Two. So yeah. Two arms. That was still normal...right?_

Wouldn’t be surprising if overnight everyone decided to add an arm... _Probably work faster....three times faster? No....uh....percentages....meh...Connor’ll know..._ Gavin looked around for the ever-present walking calculator. Why were the elevator doors on the ground? _Wait. Bomb._

“Are you hurt?” The question came from out of sight.

“Yeah...no...I...” Gavin let his head hang back and he stared at the ceiling. “No.” That was always a good answer.

The lobby’s large view window was shattered and a warm wind blew around papers and posters and plant leaves. The noise of the city reached him like a dull soundtrack of traffic and horns and sirens.

“You’re...bleeding.”

“Not...” Gavin looked at himself. He was covered in blood. But it didn’t hurt. His eyes trailed over the floor. The blood was—

“Ben!”

\---

//

Years ago.

Ben shuffled into his kitchen and saw his fairly new housemate crouched on the floor shoving his feet into that raggedly pair of sneakers he refused to throw out. Reed already had two paychecks under his belt, but he refused to replace the old shoes. Ben shrugged to himself. “Where you going? We got work in two hours.”

“Justa short run, Ben-jamin’.” Gavin’s tongue poked from the corner of his mouth as he shoved his feet into the sneakers he refused to unlace. “Won’t be long. I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Did you eat?” Ben checked the sink. No dishes. But that didn’t mean anything, Gavin had a habit of concealing evidence of his presence.

“What?” The younger man muttered.

“Anything.” Ben gestured at the kitchen. “Breakfast?”

“Oh.” Gavin pulled his fingers loose where they’d been stuck between his heel and the shoe. “...tch...yeah.” He stood up and hopped to get his foot into the shoe.

Ben didn’t press. He’d learned quickly to let Reed be. Placid and obedient for the most part, the kid had a wicked temper that he didn’t always control. Ben was still trying to figure out the kid’s triggers. Too many ‘personal’ questions was definitely one. Ben wasn’t exactly trying to give the young man a long leash for bad behavior. After an outburst, Gavin got a strange look. Not exactly fear, but expectation. Like he was waiting for Ben’s reaction.

And when Ben’s reaction was to merely tell him to ‘chill out,’ Gavin looked wary and was on edge for days afterward, refusing to let his guard down. But gradually, he’d calm down and they could speak like regular people again.

“...okay. See you at work in two hours then.”

\--

[Where R U?]

Gavin wasn’t answering his DPD issued phone.

He loved the d—mn thing. Always texting Ben even if he was only a few feet away, always adjusting his settings, and downloading new apps. He’d even found a way to access his own work terminal and files remotely. More than once, Ben would think that the young man was fooling around on some social media site only to get a peek at the screen and see it filled with gruesome crime photos and reports.

That was another thing. The kid never stopped working. Except when he went for his morning and evening runs. Even then, Ben was sure the active junior detective was likely familiarizing himself with the city or checking up on new leads.

He’d had to break that habit of going off by himself. Maybe wherever Gavin was from it’d been acceptable to dash off without a partner, but here in Detroit it was only asking for trouble. The Red Ice gangs were becoming more bold and violent in their retaliation against cops and the Red Ice taskforce members.

Ben sent another text. [Reed UR late]

One hour. The kid was one hour late. Ben wasn’t sure if he was more frantic over the fact that he’d lost his new partner or the fact that his new partner was lost.

A ping from his phone. _Finally._

A picture. Ben’s heart nearly stopped.

In a parody of a victorious trophy hunter holding up the head of his prey, a masked man crouched next to the bloodied body of Ben’s young partner. Gloved fingers were tangled in the dark brown hair as the criminal forced the gagged captive to look at the camera.

\--

Ben kicked open another door in the old, filthy, and abandoned motel. He could hear other officers conducting a similar door-to-door search.

The door crashed open and released a stench of booze and cheap cigarettes into the hall. Glass rolled and shattered underfoot as Ben hurried into the room. 

“Grrmfphckit!”

The signature grumble was a relief to hear.

“I gotcha kid.” Ben said, clearing the room and then kneeling next to his trapped partner.

Blood trickled down Reed’s arms from his wrists where the cuffs had cut into his skin. The corners of his mouth were torn and bruised from the cruelly tight gag. Ben’s eyes locked onto hazy green-dilated-to-black eyes set with an unyielding scowl. 

Ben holstered his gun and then muttered into his radio, “Found him. Room four hundred twenty. Get the EMTs.” He lowered his voice further. “Drugs and trauma to a leg.” To Gavin, he said gently, “Hey there.” He didn’t waste time untying the gag. His knife sliced through it and he threw it aside. 

Reed’s voice came out in bursts with whatever air he gulped into his lungs. “I—I—I coulda....coulda,” he swallowed and spat, “coulda g-got l-loose—m—m’self.”

Ben’s throat was swelled too much to respond as he released the cuffs. Gavin’s thin arms fell heavily to his sides.

“Th-tha’s...see....?” Gavin’s head drooped against Ben’s chest. “D-didn’t need...any...one...after all.”

“I know. I know. Yer a tough guy.” Ben said, voice gruff with emotion. He felt Gavin move as if to stand. “No-no. Stay down.” His partner’s leg was a mess. The whole knee, or what he could see of it through the torn jeans, was bloody pulp and splintered bone.

The skittish, secretive, ‘don’t phckin’ touch me’ arrogant junior detective with high ideas of himself and would slit his own throat rather than be touched was now being held like a child in Ben’s arms with hardly a protest.

“Gorra...find ‘em....took m’jacket...m’badge...”

“We’ll get them.” Ben muttered as the kid’s eyes tracked his face.

Seeing something he didn’t like in the older man’s expression, Gavin’s fingers dug into Ben’s shirtfront. “N-no. I’ll...I’ll g-get b-b-b-etter. I-I’ll be good. ‘m sorry I f—ked up...don’t don’t throw m’out.”

“What? Hey. No...shhh...Nobody’s gonna throw you out.” Ben brushed away the damp hair from the clammy forehead. “You’re gonna stay right here with me, okay kid?”

“S-st-st...ay?”

“Yes.” Ben held his partner gently, careful of the destroyed knee, as he shushed delirious pleas with hurried promises. He combed his fingers gently through the sweaty hair, trying to ease pain and fear through the force of his compassion, but Gavin’s fingers loosened their hold and his limp hand flopped down across his chest. A rattling groan bubbled out with a sigh.

\--

//

\--

Present time.

Lacking strength to squint, Ben’s drifting vision fell for a moment on the face leaning over his own. He smiled at the rebellious hair falling into expressive green eyes. _Gavin._

Through the descending black fog, Ben saw Gavin’s lips moving. Saying something repeatedly. Ben shook his head. “C-coll-collateral.” Ben tried to say, but he garbled the complicated word.

Gavin shook his head furiously, more hair fell into his eyes.

Ben tried a smile. But it seemed to upset Gavin. Ben raised a lethargic hand and patted Gavin’s heaving chest. His palm stuck momentarily to the blood covered fabric. _It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay._

“...’kay...”

Gavin shook his head. “No! Issn’t phckin’ okay!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Few updates and things:
> 
> Ah, so sorry this is taking a bit longer to get out than I planned. Anyhow....I'm trying to get back into the swing of things and back into the world of DBH, so sorry if there's a drop in quality in this chapter or if anything seems off kilter. I'll probably be touching this chapter up later. Aaaaah….I'm so sorry if it's horrible....


	4. Chapter 4

\--

The EMTs moved Gavin aside and their uniformed bodies blocked his view of the downed officer he’d just been holding together with his bare hands. 

Gavin backed away in a daze as the explosion echoed and re-echoed in his head. Out of the noise thundering in his head came a small ‘chink’ and a piece of debris went skittering across the floor. Gavin wasn’t kneeling in blood. He wasn’t holding together a human body. He was standing in the DPD lobby. 

But this wasn’t the DPD lobby. It wasn’t right. 

The lights were flickering and hanging from the ceiling, the wind and street noises rushed around him, the shiny, polished floor was gouged and covered in bits of metal, concrete, and glass. The DPD seal and motto were impossible to decipher.

This was a crime scene.

Gavin’s mental floundering seized upon the realization with an almost audible gasp. 

_I got this. I can make it right. I can control this. I know what to do. Evacuate personnel. Secure prisoners, files and evidence._

Gavin snagged a startled rookie by the arm and swung her around toward the bullpen. “Sweep all the desks and secure every scrap of paper. Jarrett, Trueman, Vilar, De’luca!” He shouted to another group of officers. “Check the cells an’ secure prisoners for transport! Miller! Seal the evidence locker! I want this building cleared five minutes ago!” 

The chorused ‘yessir’ let Gavin know his orders were being carried out. That was good...right? Things had to be put in their place. Then things would be right again. 

A large hand caught him under the bicep. Gavin jerked away with a growl that wavered more than it should have.

 _Captain?_ Gavin frowned. He heard his name, but everything else Fowler was speaking was gibberish. Underwater whale gibberish.

Gavin shook his head to clear the whales so he could hear the officer’s words, but an ocean of vertigo swung him to the side. 

There was the hand again. Gavin scowled and tried to brush it away, but the grip on his upper arm was proving difficult to escape. A strained ‘ _don’t’_ rose in his throat, but got caught there and he choked on it and all he could say was “but whales...”

Fowler’s words finally reached him. “Officers are taking care of that.” The grip on his arm didn’t loosen, but it didn’t tighten either. Gavin stared at the dark threads that formed the paisleys on the captain’s tie. _Tight weave. Silk. Edging sewn by hand. Repaired twice._ A subtle cologne wafted over him and it wasn’t until his forehead touched a warm chest and starched cotton that he realized the captain’s proximity. 

Gavin put up a hand and tried to push the much larger man away. “Ssstop crowdin’ me.”

“We need to leave.” 

“But I’m....all the...the sh—t...it’s all...phck....all....phcked up....” Gavin pointed to help the captain see the shattered window and damage from the explosion. “I,” He patted his own chest to make matters clearer. “I gotta make—

Dampness made Gavin stop. He looked at his blood covered hand and then down at his blood soaked clothes. “Oh.” He plucked at his wet shirt and laughed haltingly. “That’s....uh....I don’t....it’s all bloody...where the body is.” He tried to straighten his feet, but they didn’t cooperate and kept tilting over and.... _I can stand on the sides of my feet?_

“Reed, look at me.” 

Gavin stopped studying his feet and frowned at the captain’s shoes expectantly. 

A hand under the chin forced Gavin to look up. He poked curiously at the hazel-gold eyes. A hand pushed his away, gripped his shoulders and gave him a small shake that jostled his already aching head. “Do you understand?”

 _Angry?_ Gavin’s eyebrows drew together as he tried to interpret the captain’s glare. He drew in an unsteady breath, “Cos it’s bloody...there’s a body somewhere...” He tried to look around, but that same—now getting annoying—hand cupped his jaw and kept him looking forward. 

“Eyes on me, Reed. Hey, medic get over here. Is this idiot okay?”

A new face moved into his vision. More hands were on his body, trying to control him. Gavin flailed, but a hand on the back of his neck told him to be still as he was sat down on the floor.

Gavin grabbed impulsively at a fist-sized chuck of concrete, but those hands were back, holding his hands together and pushing them down against his legs.

“Detective Reed?” 

He winced away from the bright light that stabbed into his eyes. “Stop.”

More gibberish. A gloved hand went around the back of his head, fingers carefully checking for damage.

 _Ow._ Gavin shook his head when the rubber pulled against the little hairs at the back of his neck.

More underwater voices. 

A handheld scanner whirred around his ears. “He’s okay. Disorientated, but there’s no sign of TBI. We can take him—

Gavin’s hands trembled under the ones holding them down. “N-n-no...st-st—

“Hey, it’s alright, man.” The medic said. “You’re having an adrenaline crash. You’re okay. It’ll pass soon. Here.” A blanket wrapped around him and snugged tight. Someone hauled him up again, but Gavin wasn’t ready and his feet were all tangled up in each other and he flopped against whoever was holding onto him. “Gerroutta m’way.” He growled into the folds of the blanket around his neck.

“I’ll walk him down. Bring him over to the hospital myself.” That was Fowler speaking again. 

“I don’t wanna go hospital.” Gavin protested. “There’s work t’do.” His protests continued as he was led down the stairwell and his voice echoed petulantly like a small, unhappy animal. 

“There’s something more important we have to do.” Fowler said, his deep voice boomed around the stairwell.

Gavin flinched and rubbed at his ears with a blanket-covered fist. He walked a few more paces and then halted again. “Wait...” He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. “We gotta get the androids!”

Fowler corralled Gavin in a corner of the stairwell to keep him from returning upstairs. “We got them out.” He assured the addled detective. “Hank called and said they’re both okay.”

“Well....good.” Gavin slouched against the railing. “Whoaow!” He yelped when he nearly fell down the stairs forcing the captain to grab onto him again. “Hate to have to train new ones is all.” He straightened Fowler’s tie. “Are we gonna set up a temp HQ?”

“No. I want you at the hospital.”

“What? Whatfer? This?” Gavin patted his bloody jacket with a blanket covered hand. “Doesn’t even hurt.”

“Ben’s there.”

“Ben...why?”

“He got hurt.”

“No...that’s not...right.” Gavin murmured. 

Fowler guided Reed down the stairwell and out into the street where people swarmed against the barricades and emergency vehicles. Reporters demanding statements. Asking if the public was safe. What the police were going to do. Who was hurt? How many dead? Whose fault?

Keeping his own body between Reed and cyclopic cellphone eyes, Fowler got the detective into the passenger side of his car. 

“How?” Gavin picked at the now drying blood on his hands. “How hurt is Ben?” He leaned to try and see the captain’s shadowed face.

“I don’t know.”

\--

//flashback//

“I got you a Coney Dog.” Ben held out the hot and fresh food to the young man leaning on the riverwalk railing, cheek propped on the back of a hand while his other hand scratched idly at a nick in the railing. 

“Didn’t ask for it.”

“I’m offering.” Ben waved the food, wafting the smell toward Gavin. 

Gavin’s nose wrinkled and he turned his head away, drawing up one shoulder. “Don’t want it.”

Ben shrugged and leaned his back against the rail that ran along the walkway. “Suit yourself. More for me.”

“Pft.” Gavin’s shoulder relaxed and he settled deeper into his lean as he returned to watching the boat traffic on the Detroit River. 

Ben took a bite out of his food and chewed slowly. It was hard to believe that Gavin was standing and breathing on his own. A relaxing walk through a park had seemed an impossible future. 

They never found the people responsible. But a city worker had found Gavin’s jacket on a pig carcass thrown into the sewer, the badge shoved in its throat. Smiling mouths had been carved into the carcass.

Ben closed his eyes against the memory of the investigation. Gavin’s sheer excitement at having his jacket and badge again had erased some of the horror of seeing the garment on that rotting pig. The way Gavin wore his badge so proudly reminded Ben that these were Gavin’s things. Those men, women, whoever they were, had had no right to desecrate them. Ben couldn’t give them that power. 

But Gavin’s stubbornness and poor decisions repeatedly sabotaged his recovery after his kidnapping. Not only had he been stubborn about taking the prescribed medication for his pain, insomnia, and anxiety, but he’d snuck off to an unlicensed surgeon rumored to work medical miracles. The black market implant ended up infected, leading to sepsis. Only Ben’s quick thinking and a skilled medical team saved the young man’s life and leg.

And now, here he was. Up and about, on light duty, and regaining his strength.

But he’d stopped running for fun. Every morning, he’d wait for Ben to drive them to work. 

Gavin was watching him from the corner of his eye. 

Ben shook himself back into the present moment. “Do you want something else to eat?” He coaxed. 

There were more than enough vendors selling an assortment of cuisines. Ben wasn’t sure if it was the smell, texture, or taste, but Gavin rejected some foods with the same disgust that some people would experience toward a decomposing body, or stomach contents in the morgue. And sometimes even a formerly liked food was turned away without explanation. 

“No.”

“Thirsty?” Ben drawled, shaking the slushy ice water in his cup.

“No.” A hint of an unidentified accent slipped in with the kid’s growing annoyance. 

Ben smiled fondly. “You sure you aren’t hungry?” Gavin hadn’t glared or moved away which meant that despite his annoyance he was comfortable and didn’t feel threatened. 

“No...yes.” 

“Then I guess you don’t want these?”

Gavin’s eyes brightened at the small bag of orange chips Ben rustled. His eyes narrowed. “No.” 

Ben shrugged and opened the little bag and set it on the top of the flat rail. “Well, if you change your mind.” He took a few himself and crunched them loudly, wiping his now orange fingers on the wrapper from his meal.

After a few stubborn minutes, Gavin relented or forgot that the chips weren’t his. Ben was just happy to see the kid finally eating something today. 

The little bit of food must’ve woken up his appetite because Gavin was soon dismantling the Coney Dog Ben had left on the railing by the chips. Ben watched from the corner of his eye as the toppings and bread were flicked away for the birds while Gavin picked off a few bites from the meat.

Ben waited until Gavin tossed the rest of the meal to the eager birds watching him. “Seems quiet here.” He said as he stretched his back and arms. “Let’s take a jaunt to the other side of the park and then head back to the station.” 

An unaccountably sad expression was shadowing Gavin’s features; his head turned down and hands gripping the railing top. A dark cloud in the bright environment. 

“Hey, buddy,” Ben said gently. “You alright?” He’d never seen that look. Gavin did ‘mad’ but never ‘sad.’ 

Gavin rubbed a hand across his face, but his bloodied lips and the wetness in his swollen eyes revealed the lie he was trying to hide. “It’s nothing.” 

“You can talk to me about anything, alright?” Ben said, leaning over so he could look Gavin in the face. “Whatever it is. Things can creep up on us sometimes, but I’m here for you. Okay?”

Gavin jammed his hands into his pockets and hunched his shoulders as he moved away down the pathway. “I said it’s nothing.” 

Ben watched him move away. 

“You comin’ Ben’jamin’?”

Ben forced a laugh. “Yeah, yeah.”

//end flashback//

\--

In the android wing of the hospital, Hank sat with Connor and rubbed his partner’s arm comfortingly as a young intern read the information scrolling across the diagnostic screen. 

“No physical damage detected.” The intern rubbed his own arm as he offered the assurance to the waiting human and android. “Vocal unit offline. Percussive impact. Self-repair program at twenty-five percent. So, he’s...uh...you’re,” he nodded at Connor, “in shock.” 

“No sh—t.” Hank growled. “His workplace just got attacked and his friend got blown up. What do you expect?”

Connor rapidly shook his head and patted the air with his hands. With his communication systems down he had to make himself known via a vastly simplified sign language. Unaccustomed to ‘talking’ with his hands, Connor was distracted by the sight of his own fingers and palms making shapes in the air. If the circumstances were different he would have enjoyed the expressive dimension of communication. As it was, he only wanted to get out of the repair room and check on Ben and Gavin. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Hank grumbled as he walked out with Connor at his side. “Not his fault.”

\--

Hank and Connor had just arrived in the human wing of the hospital when a guttural howl startled them. 

Exchanging a look, they hurried toward the commotion and arrived to see Fowler wrestling Gavin away from an operating room while hospital security stood by ready to intervene if the police captain lost control. 

Gavin was half out of his jacket from his efforts to escape Fowler’s grip. 

“D—mmit, Gavin!” The captain swore as he tried to get a better stance to leverage Gavin away from the door, but the young man was throwing all his weight against the captain. “Stop!” Fowler tightened his arms and felt the other man’s ribs bow under the pressure. “There’s nothing you can do! You’re just going to get in the way!” 

But the emotional overload condensed into a pulsing klaxon of unfairness and rage in Gavin’s overwrought mind. A howl ripped from the sergeant’s throat. “He doesn’t get to do this!” He lunged, but Fowler hauled him backward and shook him roughly by the shoulders. 

“They’re trying to save him!” He shouted in Reed’s face. “If Ben’s not already dead, you’re going to get him killed! Now stop!” Fowler gave Reed another shake for good measure. “Do you understand me sergeant?! Do you want to be suspended?”

The physical jostling finally sank Fowler’s words into Gavin’s adrenaline fueled brain. His face shifted from hurt outrage to ugly hatred as he cursed and swore at the operating room doors. “Phck you! I don’t need sh—t! Jus’ phckin’ die an’ go be w’yer real phckin’ family!” He ripped away from Fowler and slammed his open palm against Connor’s shoulder, shoving the android aside as if he was no more than a door. “Outta m’way Anderson!” He snarled at Hank when the lieutenant tried to accost him. 

“Let him go.” Fowler said when Connor looked to follow Gavin. “He needs to be left alone right now before he hurts someone.”

“What was that all about?” Hank asked, leaning over and grabbing Connor’s arm so he didn’t disobey the captain and go after Reed anyway. 

Fowler snapped. “Ben won’t stabilize and the nurse was telling us to be prepared for the worse and to contact Ben’s family. And,” he flung out a hand. “Reed just totally lost his sh—t and tried to break into the operating room.” 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all,
> 
> First off, I hope you're enjoying the fic. 
> 
> Second. I'm considering starting another (prompt based???) fic for young Gavin and Ben's adventures together that takes place around and elaborates on their history mentioned in this fic. Interested? It probably won't start up until I've got more of the WIPs finished, but just thought I'd get your thoughts/ideas on it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Chapter Warnings in End Note

\--

Standing on the sidewalk, hands deep in his jacket pockets, Gavin stared at the lifeless face of Central Station. Its boarded windows stared blankly over him, past him, out at the city streets. 

The station was his constant. Whatever happened, he knew—day or night—it would be there. It didn’t change or disappear. But now it was no better than a cheap, concrete mausoleum that not even the dead wanted to be a part of.

_It isn’t my fault._

His fingernails dug into the inner seams of his jacket pockets, pulling at loose threads. 

“Phck.”

His phone vibrated against his hand and his fingers curled around it. 

“Gavin Reed.” 

The phone was hot and damp with sweat and he held it a few inches away from his ear to avoid the stickiness.

“Hey, boss.” 

“Miller. The hell you calling’ fer?”

“Updates. The temp HQ is nearly set up and ready to go. The DFD is graciously,” Miller drew out the word, “lending us one of their old garages for the patrol cars—can you believe how many people have suddenly decided they must tell us how much they hate us? With window paint? That sh—t’s expensive. And then we don’t have holding cells so all the property damage—

“Get to the point, Miller.”

“The DFD is letting us secure our vehicles in their garage, but they want us to help with their widows and orphans fundraiser. Not right now of course,” Miller added, “But later. You want me to accept the deal?”

“Whatever.”

“I’d ask the captain, but he’s not answering—

“I said do whatever!” Shouting loosened the tightness in Gavin’s chest and he took a real breath since leaving the hospital. “Are you even listening?” He kneaded his temple with his knuckles. “Phckin’....d—mmit....”

“...Sorry boss.” Gavin heard a layer of stress in Chris’ voice. “I couldn’t tell if that was your ‘whatever’ whatever, or if it was your ‘whatever-whatever’ whatever. I got it now.”

 _Great. I got my own language._ Gavin leaned into the warmth from his phone. “Anythin’ else?” 

“No....oh....uh....hey...”

“What.”

“Any word on Ben?”

Gavin hung up. He was not going to say ‘I don’t know’ or ‘no one’s told me anything.’ 

\--

He checked his phone for any missed texts or calls. 

_Nothing._

He walked up to the stationhouse, vaulting the thick concrete barriers that’d been installed in the short time since the attack. Gavin ducked under the holographic warning lines. A flash of blue singled that it’d read the chip in his badge and authorized his presence. 

There’d be a file and a log, but he didn’t care. _I’ll just say I had a possible lead I was following up. Perks of being a detective-sergeant._

Inside was dark—except for a glitchy, holographic warning flickering on the elevator doors. Gavin coughed on the stuffy air. 

_F—kin’ Fowler....’course he’d turn off the d—mn air. Anythin’ to save money._

Muffling another cough in his shoulder, Gavin switched on a small pen light and swung the beam around the gloomy anteroom, checking the darker corners. He half-hoped to see something or someone. 

Following the bloodstained boot prints toward their origin point, he pushed through the stairwell door. 

\--

In the DPD lobby, the light revealed dark blood stains splattered and tracked every which way. Rubble and glass crunched and shifted under Gavin’s feet. 

The floor wasn’t supposed to make those sounds. 

Moneypenny was supposed to be there at her station. Her LED always spinning yellow from the amount of data she processed every single minute. 

Gavin pulled a wilted leaf from one of the plants left behind during the move to the temporary HQ. Only the essentials had been taken to the temporary HQ. 

Everything else was locked away or left to rot until the powers that be gave the all clear. 

Gavin stepped around a large stain and entered the bullpen.

No chatter. No phones. No computers. No rustling of case files and clicking of tablets.

The breakroom was untouched. Without any power going to the machines there were no lights...no life. 

Kicking aside his chair, it had been knocked over during the evacuation, Gavin meandered across the room until he arrived at Ben’s desk.

He dropped into the chair with a sigh, pulling out the old cop’s lumbar pillow and tossing it onto the top of the desk. Swiveling in a small semi-circle, Gavin scowled at the desk and the pillow.

“Phck.” 

He grabbed the pillow and yanked open one of the desk drawers to stuff it away out of sight. He paused with a hand on the drawer’s lip.

In the drawer was a small package wrapped in dark green tissue paper. Thick, black letters spelled out: ‘GAVIN.’ 

_What the hell? It’s nowhere near my frickin’ birthday._

Besides, Gavin knew for a fact that the older detective had conspired with Anderson to take him and Connor out on a surprise camping trip in October. 

_Pfft. Joke’s on them._ Gavin shook away a smirk. The only who didn’t know the plan was Connor. 

_Stupid android. Not so smart, huh?_

Gavin didn’t particularly care for roughing it in the woods, but he had thought it might be nice to get out of the city for a while on someone else’s dime. 

_It’s gonna be hilarious to see Connor’s face when his connection to the infinity of the internet is cut off. Phckin’ dopy ‘droid._

While he amused himself with the idea of Connor burning down a polyester tent with a flaming s’more, Gavin compressed the squishy package several times, listening to the crackle of the paper. 

He turned it over and saw a tiny paw print sticker holding the wrapping’s folds together. 

_Huh._ He slid his finger under and unfolded the contents. 

“Sh—t!” Either a snake or black oil spilled over his knees and pooled on the floor. The chair rocked wildly, but Gavin kept a secure perch as he stared intently at the puddle, hand on his holstered gun. 

It didn’t move.

He shifted and nudged the thing with the toe of his shoe. It didn’t try to bite him.

Gavin hopped off the chair and knelt down to investigate. He sat back on his heels and stared at it when he saw what it was: a midnight purple scarf. 

\--

//flashback//

“Is death by boredom negligent homicide?” Gavin asked from where he was flopped backwards over a mannequin’s platform.

“Humm? No.” Ben answered as he sorted through the piles of plastic wrapped shirts on the display stand. 

Gavin spread his arms out wide before bringing them up; hands folded into a pretend pistol and fired ‘lasers’ at the sprinkler heads on the ceiling. “Peu-pew-pewpew...Pkchu!” 

“Is rose pink a professional color?”

“Depends on the profession dunnit?” Gavin rolled over onto his stomach, causing the mannequin to sway backwards and sideways without falling. He aimed his pretend weapon at an imaginary enemy behind Ben and fired away. 

“What do you think?” Ben opened the shirt’s packaging and held the garment up against himself. “A shrug isn’t much of a comment, Gavin.” He lowered the shirt and checked the sizing. 

Gavin yawned loudly and waved his hands as if to cool off his fingers. “Whaddya want me t’say?” 

Ben shook the shirt at Gavin. “Anything you want.”

“It’s an ugly shirt the square buttons look stupid it looks like that pink medicine that makes you throw up I hate this store it smells weird that carpet hurts my eyes those shorts look uncomfortable like what the hell what’s with all the color blocking that same song has played five times already—

“Alright, alright.” Ben was smiling. “I get it. There’s some displays over there you might be interested in.” He gestured over his shoulder. 

Gavin sat up, interest piqued. Ben had indicated an accessories department supplied with hats, gloves, sunglasses and watches. “Why?” He sprawled back down on his chosen seat and swatted at the mannequin’s tasseled skirt. 

“Give yourself something to do? Find the differences between brands.”

“That’s stupid—

Ben held up another shirt. “Do you think my yellow tie would match this?”

With an exaggerated groan, Gavin slid off the mannequin platform and sauntered away to check out a brightly illuminated display of sunglasses. He caught a glimpse of himself in the narrow mirror and swerved away toward the gloves. 

\--

He was rubbing a soft pair of black gloves along the inside of his wrist when he heard Ben’s footsteps. 

“You done yet?” Gavin asked without turning. He’d looked at everything already. Twice. 

“Yep.” 

“About d—mn time.” Gavin tossed the gloves onto the bottom of the shelf and turned around. “You’re getting that?” He pointed at the dark, almost black, purple scarf in Ben’s hands. “I thought you were gettin’ a shirt? Dragging me around this phckin’ store for something you’re not even gonna buy? What the hell?”

Wordlessly, Ben tapped the two packaged shirts he’d set down on a nearby counter. 

Gavin scowled and crossed his arms. “That doesn’t explain that.” He pointed at the scarf.

“You know, it is okay to deviate from a shopping plan.”

“But you said we’d only be in here a few minutes! Now you’re gonna look at f—kin’ scarves for the next hour?!”

“I’m not.” Ben ran the scarf through his fingers. “I just saw it on my way over and thought you’d like it.”

Gavin shook his head. “I don’t need it.”

“No, no, no.” Ben chuckled. “We only get paid enough to catch the perps who steal this stuff. We aren’t supposed to actually be able to buy it ourselves.” He laughed. “But I thought you’d like to feel it.” He held out the scarf.

Part of Gavin cringed away, angry and frustrated with the entire interaction. 

The whole day. Everything. 

The scarf dropped over his hands. Its soft touch was hardly detectable against his skin.

 _Oh._ Gavin blinked. “Wassit?” He ran it through his fingers the way he’d seen Ben.

“Synthetic cashmere blend, I think. Guess some scientist figured out how to make it better than the real thing. Wanna see how it looks on you?”

“No.” Gavin tossed it at Ben.

“Well, can I just test the length and style?” 

Gavin’s brow creased and his hands drew back toward himself to fold away in his crossed arms. “What?”

“I might get it for someone I know, but I need to make sure it’s gonna look good on them.”

“I’m not some d—mn model.”

Ben shrugged. He put the scarf around his own neck and walked to the large mirror on the back wall. “Eeeh....see....I just can’t tell...I’m all the wrong shape. Gavin, just do me a tiny favor. You don’t even have to stand in front of the mirror.”

“Huh?” Gavin spun a watch display again, causing the watches to bounce in their slots.

“Can you please put this on? You don’t have to stand in front of the mirror...”

“....phck.....” Gavin left the watches, grabbed the scarf from Ben, and put it over his shoulders. “See? Can we go now?”

“Can I?” Ben motioned at the fabric around the young man’s neck. 

“Fiiiiine.” Gavin rolled his eyes and stood awkward and stiff while Ben arranged the scarf just so and stepped back. 

“I think it’ll work.” He said with a pleased nod.

Before Gavin could say anything or remove the scarf, another shopper came up to them. 

“You should get it.” She said. “It brings out all the different greens in his eyes.” Her lips were painted the right shade to match her skin. Her clean white teeth flashed in a bright smile directed at Gavin. 

Gavin’s chest tightened painfully. But then, Ben was between him and the woman. 

“Okay lady, thank you that’s enough.” Ben sent her away and then turned to Gavin. “Well, that’s it for today. Can you hand me the scarf? I’ll hang it back up.” He took the scarf from Gavin’s neck himself. “Thanks.” He folded it up and left it with the shirts on the counter. 

“Now let’s get back to the car and then maybe pick up something to eat? Maybe we’ll have nachos. I got all the ingredients for those. You like nachos? I like nachos. Nachos with cheese. This way, Gavin. C’mon. You’re doing great. Here we go. Almost there. Nachos with beans. Nachos with oh, oh olives. Yes? Sour cream. We should make a nacho song. Are you a tenor? Winters is a tenor, but he doesn’t have much of a soul for music. Look at that. We’re outside.”

Gavin blinked in the warm sunlight and pulled his arm out of Ben’s hold. He rubbed his clammy hands together. “Wh-what the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Nachos.”

“What?”

“Nachos for dinner. See, I like to make them on a big tray, at least two layers...”

The old phantom crawled back into its crack in the back of Gavin’s mind as images of hot, cheesy nachos filled his imagination. 

//end flashback//

\--

Gavin stared at the scarf. 

Ben must’ve gone back at some point and bought the expensive accessory.

An almost electrical thrumming buzzed in Gavin’s ears. The pressure in his head built until his eyes hurt. 

He rammed the heels of his palms into his eyes until lights exploded behind his lids. 

Gavin could take most hits without staggering, but an invisible weight pressed him to the ground. He resisted, at first—struggled to be strong. 

But then, like a sinking ship, he went down with a groan and folded over his knees, clasping his hands tight over the back of his head, nails digging into his own skin.

“D—mmit Ben.”

\--

//flashback//

“Hey, you.”

Gavin swept his damp hair out of his eyes and turned from the sink to see Winters leaning against a locker watching him. Gavin pressed his thumb against the locker’s panel to secure it; shook out his jacket and shrugged into it, checking the pockets for his phone and wallet. Satisfied, he strode toward the exit. 

A long, straight arm shot out, blocking his path. 

“You could at least say ‘hello’.”

“Officer Winters, move.” Gavin’s fingers curled into the cuffs of his jacket. 

Winters sighed noisily. “Life is so unfair. People don’t get what they deserve, don’t get the things they want.” He straightened up, but didn’t drop the arm he had extended. Hours in the gym made sure his face showed no strain. “I’m supposed to give the orders around here.” 

“Funny.” The scowl never left Gavin’s face. “Didn’t know you made senior detective.”

“Only a matter of time, Gav.” Winters’ smile faltered. “And then you’ll be doing what I say.”

Gavin drew in a small breath and released it in a short half-laugh. “Right. A mediocre cop with no instinct for investigation.” He shook his head. “Don’t see it happenin’.”

“When you got promoted,” Winters jabbed a finger at Gavin’s lean chest, “was it because your previous superiors found you exceptional?”

“Get the phck outta m’face.” 

“Oh, ith got a widdle speeth ‘pediment?” 

“Stop.”

“Or what? You gonna cry to daddy Benny? Ask him to kiss the boo-boo?”

Gavin’s straight punch slammed into Winters’ sculpted abs as if they were soft butter, doubling the man over. Before he recovered, a knee to the face laid him out on the ground gurgling profanities through a broken nose. 

“I’m done with your sh—t.” Gavin warned. “You don’t come near me and you don’t talk sh—t about Detective Collins.”

“Jumped up little b—ch!” Winters hissed as he sat up, blood dripping between his fingers. “Internal Affairs will hear about this!”

Gavin’s scowl froze. 

He’d attacked a fellow officer. 

His record for aggression and the man’s broken nose and double black eyes would be all the proof anyone needed. The only evidence they’d care to look at. 

“You can’t...don’t...you can’t...do that.”

“Ah?” Winters sniffed loudly against the blood clotting in his nose. Like a parasite in a wound, he dug deeper. “Does somebody have nasty little secrets?” He squirmed. “How exciting.”

“Shaddup.” The word was choked out of a tight throat, aired by lungs that refused to expand. Gavin’s vision blurred and darkened as he mentally screamed at his ribs to expand, to stop crushing his lungs. 

Winters snickered at the younger man’s distress. “Yeah. That’s right.” He stood up and pressed into Gavin’s space. “Wait until I tell them how Ben’s feral cripple kitty attacked me because it couldn’t take a joke. Some cop you are. What are you gonna do when someone calls you a f—king pig? You gonna attack civilians? How long you think you’ll keep your badge with that attitude?” 

_Call. Ben. Get. Help._

Gavin shoved Winters away. Got his fingers around his phone in his pocket. He could navigate the phone without seeing the screen. He was almost to Ben’s number. 

Winter’s potent cologne returned; the man’s breath was on his face; Gavin lost track of where his fingers were on the screen, didn’t know where he was at. If he hit any buttons now, he might call the wrong person. He clutched the phone in his hand and met Winters’ eyes with a glare.

Winters swayed like a reptile as he taunted Gavin. “C’mon. Let’s make it a good story. Hit me again. You know you want to. Or do you only do what Ben tells you to? Like a good little plaything? How much does that obedience cost?”

Gavin’s fingers loosened around the phone in his pocket. 

_Ben’s not like that. Ben’s different._

Ben waited patiently whenever he struggled to find words. Ben frowned when he lost his temper, but listened to every ugly word. As if they were important. Ben gave him space; never crowding him, or touching him without making sure it was okay. Except that one time when Ben held him so tight and stroked his hair and made all the pain stop. _Must’ve had morphine or something..._

And Ben never asked for anything in return.

But lately a warm fluttery-flutter happened whenever Ben did or said something for him. It was like being punched without getting hurt.

Like the other day when Ben said ‘you’re a genius.’

Not ‘that’s genius.’ Ben had said he, Gavin Reed, was a genius. He said it like he believed Gavin really was clever. And for the first time in a long time, Gavin had almost believed it. And the fluttery-flutter blossomed in his chest. 

He had an impulse to say ‘you’re a genius too,’ so he could give Ben the fluttery-flutter too. 

“You owe him. Don’t you?” Winters sneered. 

Gavin’s breath caught at the realization. It was a debt. That explained the weird impulse. _I owe Ben._

Gavin’s eyes burned. He’d made a mistake. The flutter wasn’t good. It was bad. It was the feeling of a new chain around him. 

“And now he owns you.”

Gavin shook his head as if that would dislodge the thought Winters had implanted. “Issn’t like that. He’s different.”

“No one is different.” Winters smiled. “You’ll see. Try to leave. He’ll make you stay until you’ve paid up.”

Shame swept over Gavin and he turned his head away when Winters leaned in and whispered: “And when Ben’s done with you...I’ll be waiting.”

//end flashback//

\--

A light tapping caught Gavin’s attention. He blinked and saw Connor kneeling on the floor in front of him, head on folded arms on the seat of the chair. The tapping was from the android’s forever-manicured nails clicking against the chair’s metal frame. 

When the android saw that Gavin was once more in the present, his LED swirled blue and he smiled. 

“I don’t want to talk.” Gavin muttered.

Connor’s LED flashed red in annoyance. He pointed to his throat and shook his head, spreading his hands. 

“Hell of a time to get laryngitis.” 

Connor rolled his eyes and flung up his hands. He tried sign language. 

Gavin frowned. “I don’t understand that sh—t...” 

The android made an explosion gesture and then pointed at himself again, swiping his hand across his throat.

“...sucks to be you, I guess.”

Connor leaned over and flicked Gavin’s head. 

Gavin returned the gesture. Violence always made him feel better, like loosening a valve that eased the pressure that built up in his head and chest. He narrowed his eyes at Connor’s gesture. “No I don’t want a hug.” 

Connor gave a pathetic attempt at a scowl and scooted over on the floor so he sat next to Gavin. Curious, he picked up the dropped scarf. Gavin saw a tiny frown when the android rubbed it between his fingers. LED yellow, he looked at Gavin. 

“Synthetic fibers.” Gavin muttered. He tried to ignore Connor when the android put the scarf around his own neck and petted it. His brown eyes settled on the discarded wrapping.

Gavin lunged to grab the paper before Connor could see what was written, but the android elbowed him and got to the paper first, holding it out of Gavin’s reach. 

“Phckin’ android.” Gavin scowled and sat back. 

The LED flashed yellow again and Connor pointed to the wrapper, the scarf, to Ben’s desk and to Gavin.

“Still don’t wanna talk.”

The LED returned to blue and Connor folded the scarf up in its wrapper and set it on top of the desk. Then he sat down again, chin on knees, with a small sigh.

Gavin’s foot twitched. It itched to kick the android away. His throat was tight with the urge to scream himself hoarse telling the android to get lost and leave him alone. 

“Go away.” He muttered. 

The answer was a puff of air from the android that sounded suspiciously like ‘pfft.’

\--

//flashback//

“...wait. You’re leaving? Now? Gavin, it’s 1am! Where will you go?”

“None of your business!”

“What set off this bad mood—

“It’s not a phckin’ ‘mood.’”

“Kid...”

“Don’t ever touch me again!”

“Okay, I get that you’re upset, but, Gavin, we’re partners and—

“We’re not.”

“What?”

“Your request to get rid of me as a partner was approved this evening.”

“What? What are you talking about? I never made that request!”

“I made it for you.”

“Gavin...”

“My name is Reed.”

“Reed...whatever happened, I can help make it right again.”

“Nope. I’m through w’you. Done. Over. I’m movin’ into my new apartment in the mornin’.”

“You can at least stay the night.”

“What part of f—k off aren’t you hearin’? You finally go deaf? I’m leavin’ and there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”

\--

Gavin felt free standing out on the sidewalk outside Ben’s house. No one was going to control him. He was never going to have another partner. He’d make sure of that. 

_All’s that’s left is to take care of Winters..._

//end flashback//

\--

“I screwed everythin’ up.” Gavin gripped his hair in his hands as the confession bubbled out. “Jus’ like I ‘ways do.”

Connor tapped the floor until Gavin shot him a weak glare. The android mimed a phone.

Gavin glared. _I was in the middle of my annual meltdown, plasti-detective._ “I thought you couldn’t talk.”

Connor made the ‘gimme it d—mmit’ gesture again with more vigor. With a sigh, Gavin pulled out his phone and slapped it into the android’s palm. Before he took his hand away, though, Connor’s fingers closed over his own for a minute. Then Connor released both.

Frowning, Gavin looked at his phone. Connor had pulled up a navigation map with a route plotted to the hospital. 

“Connor...”

The android leaned over and swiped the ‘start’ option and the phone’s cheery voice sang out the first instruction:

‘Exit DPD Central Station and make a u-turn.’

\--

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional Chapter Warnings: Nothing graphic or explicit, but you know...I'd rather be over cautious. ^^
> 
> Several panic attacks  
> Implied/referenced past sexual harassment  
> Implied/referenced non-consensual touching
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
> One more chapter to go! Then we're gonna start cracking away at "Nothing Like Love..." which should be much less angsty. Just whumpy sick Gavin getting taken care of by the DPD crew.
> 
> As always, I value every comment but I'm so far behind on answering them so I'm soooo sorry! I swear, I'm not ignoring you! 
> 
> ^^ Whumptober prompts finally came out....now I'll have a place/reason to post all the bit/pieces of Gavin whump that don't make their way into the longer fics.


	6. Chapter 6

\--

Gavin wrinkled his nose at the familiar odor of Tina’s expensive cigarettes. The cop was seated in a designated ‘smoking cubical’ outside the hospital unfazed by the number of surgeon general warnings, 1-800-QUIT, ‘secondhand smoking kills,’ pictures of destroyed lungs, and anti-smoking PSAs plastered around her. The red, orange glow from the cigarette softly illuminated the edges of her face in contrast to the city’s twilight of harsh outdoor lighting. 

She flicked ash toward Gavin as he walked past. He scowled at her and the pile of cigarettes in the tray alongside her. Chen never did bedside vigils or well-wishes.

“What’s the word, Chen?”

Tina shrugged and lit another cigarette. “You got this far. Go find out.”

\--

Gavin shouldered his way through the doors and strode past the nursing station, flashing his badge with as much arrogance as he could draw from his energy reserves. Judging by the nurse’s scowl, it worked. 

“Reed you look like sh—t.” Fowler remarked from where he sat, straight-backed, in one of the small chairs with a laptop beside him on an even smaller table. 

“Is he dead then?” The blurted question was callous even to Reed’s ears and not part of any script he’d been reciting on one of the many circuits he’d made around the hospital block. He covered his wince with a smirk when Fowler looked at him. And then changed it for a more appropriate scowl.

“No.”

“Fine. Don’t share details w’the class.” Gavin scoffed despite his tight throat and the pounding in his chest. He sat on the edge of the room’s central coffee table, pushing away the pile of tablets advertising immortality in every shape and size. A large bunch of artificial flowers poked into his back. He elbowed it away. “How long?”

“You can’t just—

“Just what? Ask questions?” Gavin laughed and twisted the head off one blossom that wouldn’t stop brushing against his ear. “I’m a detective remember?” He snapped off and threw a bit of plant at the captain, but it only wafted in a loop and landed somewhere under his feet. 

Fowler muttered an oath and pinched the crease between his eyes. “Ben is in ICU.”

Gavin opened his mouth, but Fowler held up a hand. “There’s still internal bleeding they can’t control.”

“Phckin’ blood thinners....” Another piece of colorful silk fluttered to the ground. Joined shortly by bits of green floral tape.

“That’s what the surgeon said. They’re changing his medication to help stop the bleeding, but—

“I hate doctors.” Gavin scratched at a water stain on the table’s finish with a naked wire stem. 

Fowler rolled his eyes. “They’re the ones saving Ben’s life—they’ve saved yours more than enough times.”

Gavin scoffed and pocketed the wire. “An’ I’m sure the world thanks ‘em fer it...” He pulled another flower out of the vase by its head, “Oh wait....it doesn’t.” 

Fowler’s glare softened as the second silk flower was slowly destroyed by Gavin’s agitated fingers. Other than the brief hand and face wash he’d received as part of getting the cut on his jaw stitched, Gavin hadn’t taken the time to wash up or change his clothes. “Why don’t you go to your apartment, get cleaned up and some rest?”

Gavin stabbed the wire flower stem through his pant leg and twirled it. “’m ‘llowed t’be’re too.” He muttered.

“This isn’t about who is or isn’t ‘allowed’ to be anywhere.” Fowler said. “I don’t want you throwing a fit again just because you’re too emotionally fatigued to control yourself.”

“Didn’t.”

“Your behavior earlier was unprofessional and embarrassing for the entire department.”

“'kay.” Another piece of floral greenery was shredded and sprinkled on the ground.

“Alright. That’s a start, I guess.” Fowler rubbed a hand over his forehead. He watched the sergeant-detective mangle another portion of the flower arrangement. “Did you hear from Miller?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s got everything under control. Had to sell the department’s soul to the DFD but...” Gavin shrugged. “Whatever.”

Fowler sighed. The departments had enough rivalry as it was, but he and the fire chief had not only gone after the same woman—who was now Mrs. Fowler—but back when Captain Fowler was Jeffy in kindergarten he might have accused little ‘Johnson Briggs Jr.’ of grand theft.

It made things more than a little awkward when Fowler moved back to Detroit to find his old nemesis as the fire chief. Who knew what Briggs had cooked up to try and humiliate Fowler’s crew in the coming months? 

_Anyway._ He shook himself out of his introspection. “Then why don’t you stay here for a bit...keep an eye on things and call me if there’s any news? I’ll go and check on the temp HQ.”

Gavin mumbled something to the floor.

“What?”

Gavin slapped a shredded flower stem against his leg. “They’ll jus’ wanna talk t’you.”

“That’s because I’m the only one not freaking out in their faces.” Fowler stood up with a groan and gathered his laptop. “It’s not difficult. Sit there and...try not to think too much. If the doctor asks for me, tell him who you are and that you’re my representative. If they give you any trouble, have them call me.”

“Just have them call you in the first place.” Gavin pointed out an obvious solution.

“You’re missing the point.”

“Which is?”

Fowler marched over to Gavin and ripped the beaten flower out of his hands. Gavin tensed up, rubbing his fingers and glared up at the captain. 

“I am. Trusting. You.” Fowler said, emphasizing the point with a light stab of the wire against Gavin’s chest. “Sit. Behave. Listen. Call if you have a problem.”

“Phckin’ ‘kay...” Gavin scowled and rubbed his chest. “Whatever.” He sidled around the captain and claimed the man’s seat for his own as he took over the post. 

\--

Two long days.

No change. 

\--

The bomber turned himself in at a local homeless organization. 

The FBI rolled into town within the hour and escorted him to a high-security safe house prior to transporting him to a prison out of DPD’s jurisdiction. 

\--

Still unconscious, but the bleeding finally stopped.

Visitors allowed. A rotation of cops and staff members from the precinct stopped by to sit with the comatose man and give him gentle—or in Hank’s case not so gentle—encouragement to ‘get well soon.’ 

The doctors were hopeful. ‘Just a matter of time’ they said. 

‘He’s getting stronger every day.’ 

\--

Ben first opened his eyes to a see a petite nurse with black, black hair reapplying her makeup in the small mirror on the inside of the room’s tiny closet. He drifted away. The next time, he woke to a heavy weight pressed into his side. Turning his head, he saw he had a visitor. 

Gavin’s head was pillowed on his arms with the crown of his head pressed against Ben’s side. Sleeping quietly in a loose shirt without his hooded jacket, Gavin appeared smaller—less like arrogant Detective-sergeant Reed and more like the raggedy kid from years ago. 

Questions filled Ben’s mind, but he pushed them aside and enjoyed the stillness of the room and drug-induced pain free living. And the company of a quiet visitor. He knew the hospital routine. Someone would notice the change in his vitals and nurses would come check on him. The doctor would come by for a chat. Ben would sign papers and get himself out of the hospital as quickly as possible without being a bad example to the younger generation. 

He’d get time off from work. Maybe finally clean out his garage. 

Maybe adopt a guinea pig or two. 

A soft growl distracted Ben from his thoughts and he redirected his attention to Gavin whose fingers were curling and uncurling in the sheets wadded in his hands under his chest. 

Ben easily recognized the signs of a dream. When Gavin did sleep, it was usually restless—everything from falling off the couch to sleepwalking—but he rarely made any noise unless the dream was particularly vivid. 

Ben put a hand to Gavin’s shoulder, careful not to catch the tubes and wires in his hand on anything. 

“Don’t.” The muffled protest escaped Gavin in a breathy huff of air.

Ben lifted his hand and his fingers curled into his palm. 

The wretched-faced past was always watching. Its fingers pointing backward to scenes of hurt and betrayal. Its long arms curling around all who tried to escape, turning them away from any road forward. Ben squeezed his eyes shut. 

“...don’t leave.” The soft whisper barely made it through the fabric. Gavin’s breath hitched and his words tumbled out together. “Don’t leave, ya phckin’ idiot....” 

Ben’s hand lowered to press gently against the younger man’s head. “I’m here.” His fingers stroked through the loose tangles of the dark brown hair. “I’m right here, Gavin.”

\--

End 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> A lovely reader asked about the backstory for the 'mailbomb' that's been mentioned here and there. ^^  
> If you want to read the happy ending, check out [Double-Winks Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21134252/chapters/55303984#workskin)


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